Professor Jackson
by Cebad2710
Summary: The new professor was strange, Harry decided. He was a refreshing change from the suffocating depression of the Great Hall and Harry might just rethink about that jinx on the DADA position. He'll slowly come to realize, the new DADA professor was a mystery even Hermione couldn't solve.
1. Chapter 1

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table along with the rest of the seventh years who had chosen to return after the war. Hermione and Ron sat opposite him across the table, not conversing just like the rest of the population in the Great Hall. The war was finally over, but it had clearly taken its toll on all those who survived.

The four house tables were less occupied than one would have remembered. The chatter that had always been present within the place many had called home was absent. The silence left an empty feeling in everyone's hearts, but none could find it within themselves to fill it again. Each empty space on the benches was a painful reminder to everyone the friends they have lost to the battle.

The grim atmosphere was only highlighted by the sight of McGonagall in the principal's chair at the center of the staff table. Harry felt a painful tug in his chest as he remembered an old man with a long white beard occupying the very same chair. It was a time long past, one from a distant dream. The Boy Who Lived scanned the staff table and was reminded of yet another missing face, that of the late Severus Snape. Harry didn't have fond memories of that man but after his death, he could only mourn for the bravest hero he had ever known.

Harry came to notice the new face among the staff. Likely, the new professor brought in to fill the empty post of DADA professor.

The man was very young, Harry noted, if he could fancy a guess, the man couldn't have been older than him.

He had handsome features, Harry grudgingly admitted. Sharp nose, high cheekbones, and chiseled jaw, the man reminded Harry of those old Greek marble statues muggles love so much. There was this wildness about the man that Harry can't seem to pinpoint. Perhaps it's the way his black hair looked windblown, or the way his stormy green eyes occasionally shifted, almost restlessly, to look at various random spots in the Hall.

The grim atmosphere in the Hall didn't affect the man, not at all. He seemed quite the opposite actually. Despite his shifting gaze, he looked rather relaxed in his seat, as if he had accepted whatever sorrow the war had offered him and cheerfully moved on. It was a strange but refreshing change from the suffocating depression and Harry guiltily embraced it.

The double doors burst open, pulling Harry from his musings. Hagrid walked in with the new first years in tow. The muggle-born children looked in innocent wonder at their surroundings, taking in the floating candles and the enchanted ceiling, their amazement clearly written across their tiny faces. Of course, the amazement didn't spread to those from magical families. Even at this age, they were not spared from the trauma of war and loss.

Harry felt a tinge of jealousy as he watched the amazed children. He could remember his first time entering the Great Hall, so hopeful for a better future. Those children would never know the sorrow of the world they have just entered, they would only have memories of magic and happiness.

He silently watched on as McGonagall sorted the first years and gave the opening speech for the Feast. As he dug into the food, he learnt the name of the new professor.

Professor Percy Jackson.

* * *

><p>One thing Harry never thought he would miss about Hogwarts was the speed gossip travelled. By the end of the first day, talk about the new professor spread like wild fire.<p>

Harry was relaxing in the common room, sitting by the fire, which was a really cozy spot in the slightly chilly weather. Hermione had taken to studying the materials for the seventh year in advance, and also trying her best to rope Ron into doing the same. Ron, to his credit, was doing a pretty good job at _not_ getting roped into it.

"I just came out of a war 'Mione!" Ron protested. "I think I deserve a break and take it slow with the books!" Harry shook his head, smiling slightly to himself as he watched his best-friends-turned-couple wrestle half-heartedly with the textbook.

Ginny, he noted wistfully, was in a very intensive discussion with Neville about Herbology. The poor bastard looked cornered by the fierce expression on Ginny's face, Harry was sure that Neville was only seconds away from just agreeing with the girl just so she would leave him alone. He smiled, _That's my girl_.

"He's so _charming_." Harry didn't mean to eavesdrop but the dreamy voice of a girl wasn't too far from him to be heard rather clearly.

"He looked at me and I swear I _drowned_ in his eyes..." Harry made a face; did someone really just say that in a conversation?

"I heard he's just _two years older_ than us!"

"Have you heard him speak Latin? I didn't know it was possible to be so _fluent_. Oh, professor _Jackson!_" Harry frowned, who?

He wasn't the only one who heard the girls it seems. Hermione closed her book, glancing in the direction of the swooning girls, daydreaming about the charming new professor.

"That new professor," Hermione began. "He looks a bit young don't you think?"

"He looks our age." Ron scoffed. "I can remember the last time we had a pretty and incompetent idiot in the position."

Harry shuddered at the memory of Lockhart; at least the new teacher had not smiled at his own reflection in the goblets…he hoped.

"Manpower's tight these days," Harry offered. "Maybe McGonagall couldn't afford to fill the position with someone of more experience." Hermione nodded at Harry's unexpectedly helpful input.

"Luna had professor Jackson today," Hermione said. "She said his lessons were very… physical. At least he seems to know what he is doing."

"Physical?" Harry muttered, repeating Hermione's use of words. Hermione shrugged, her face turning just the slightest shade of pink. Harry's curiosity spiked. It was a long time since Hogwarts had seen a DADA professor who was remotely good at the job.

Harry felt his first inkling of excitement since the end of the war, anticipation bubbled up his chest and he looked forward to his first DADA lesson in two days time.

* * *

><p>The DADA classroom was how he remembered it to be, the wide room had its tables and chairs lined up along the side, clearing a space in the middle for the students to carry out the activities.<p>

The Gryffindors had their DADA with Slytherins, which would have caused great displeasure among the students had it been a year earlier. Well, they have all came a long way and had fought the war together, the two houses had developed a grudging truce. The invisible barrier that usually separated them in the past became less defined.

Professor Jackson stood in front of his desk at the front of the class, a smile on his lips as he surveyed the battle-worn students. He had removed his coat, which was currently in a pile on his desk, and was clad in a dark navy blue button-up and black pants. He had his arms crossed as he waited patiently for all the students to file into the classroom.

He briefly met Harry's eyes, which made Harry blink. The professor's eyes were not merely just green; they shifted in shade, blue mixing and swirling with green, restless just like their owner. Surely it had to be a trick of the light?

"Hello," professor Jackson addressed the class, a cheerful smile on his lips, his eyes held a glint of mischief. "I'm professor Jackson, welcome to your first DADA class with me."

He had an American accent, Harry noted. He watched enough muggle TV to recognize it.

"I heard your year fought the battle in Hogwarts," his smile never faltered as he mentioned the Battle. His eyes darted to Harry and Harry didn't miss the few glances at him from the students in the room either. "After you have fought and survived the war, I doubt the need of me to teach you simple defensive spells." At this, murmurs began among the students and Hermione especially had an indignant expression on her face.

Harry was feeling a sudden familiarity about this situation, albeit with a much less pleasant-looking woman.

Before the murmurs could escalate further, professor Jackson continued, "I would be teaching you defense techniques of a different kind." Murmurs started anew but this time with a different tone.

Harry glanced around at his fellow classmates, Hermione was looking confused as were the rest of his classmates, but most of the others were excited about the prospect of learning something new. His eyes travelled further and landed on Draco Malfoy. Draco was looking down at his shoes, not participating in the hushed conversation of his housemates about the lesson.

The Slytherin looked up again, his expression grim and devoid of excitement, and caught Harry's eye. Unlike what Harry expected, Draco didn't sneer at him, instead, the blond just gave him a cold look before returning his gaze to the professor. Harry frowned, like he said, they have all came a long way since the war.

"—show you what I mean, can I have a volunteer?" Harry registered the professor's voice. "How about you?" He turned then to fully face the professor. Professor Jackson was looking at Draco, one arm held at his side as if to say 'please'. Harry frowned at the unconventional choice. Not that he was complaining, but it was usually him who was picked out, whatnot with him being The Boy Who Lived. He supposed perhaps the Malfoy's reputation preceded him too.

Draco looked shocked at being picked out; his eyes flickered to his housemates, still rooted to the spot. The class was silent as every pair of eyes turned to the Malfoy. The gazes were not outright hostile, but most of them still held contempt and distrust.

Professor Jackson seems to notice none of that, he only made a gesturing motion at Draco, his expression expectant and the furthest from hostile you could get.

Harry watched as Draco swallowed and hesitantly stepped to the front of the class.

"Alright!" professor Jackson clapped the boy happily on the back and guided him to one side of the room. He gestured for the students to make space and soon there was a wide arc separating them and the class. He stood on the other side of the room opposite Draco and flexed his fingers. "I'll now demonstrate to you the gist of what I am going to teach you."

Students edged closer, curiosity growing. Draco gripped his wand tighter, unsure of what to do.

"Where's his wand?" Hermione voiced out her sudden realization. Harry realized with a start that Hermione was right; professor Jackson held nothing in his hands.

"Mr. Malfoy isn't it?" The professor asked, his smile growing wider now, as if he was excited for what he was about to do. Draco gave him a nod. "Try and stun me." At the professor's request, Draco visibly paled. The murmurings among the students started again.

"Is he crazy?" Hermione exclaimed, staring wide-eyed at the professor, who looked so relaxed as if he were not asking _Malfoy _to _stupefy_ him while completely _unarmed._ Draco's expression conveyed everyone's thoughts exactly as his grip on his wand grew tighter.

"But professor—" Draco began, his voice, kudos to him, barely hinted at his fear of getting the blame for knocking out an unarmed professor. Professor Jackson cut him off with a wave of his hand and a laugh. A laugh that was so confident Harry believed that, for a second, the professor knew what he was doing and would not endanger himself or his students. Then, of course, the reality of the situation came back to him.

"Trust me," professor Jackson grinned, a mischievous one that reminded Harry of the Weasley twi—of George Weasley. Draco swallowed again but this time he raised his wand, his hand was shaky as he pointed his wand at the professor. Professor Jackson responded by leaning forward, crouching slightly as if he were ready to sprint.

Draco took a deep breath and steadied his arm, "Stupefy!"

The class all turned to the professor expecting him to be knocked out on the ground.

Professor Jackson shocked everyone by ducking under the spell with agility. Draco was not done. He fired another spell. And another. And another. Professor Jackson spun and flipped around each spell with such ease and speed it was as if he was performing a choreographed dance. Before anyone realized, he was already in front of Draco.

Draco couldn't react, other than to widen his eyes and attempt to move away, professor Jackson gave his wand arm a sharp jab, which caused Draco to yelp and let go of his wand. Suddenly, the professor had Draco's wand in his hand and the tip was pointed under Draco's chin.

The class gasped, not even sure of what had transpired. The professor grinned and lowered Draco's wand returning it to him.

"And that's what I'll be teaching you this year!" professor Jackson said cheerfully as he gave Draco's arm a quick check for bruises. "I'll teach you how to gain an advantage over your opponent in an actual combat situation." The class began another round of excited murmurs at the idea of learning the cool moves professor Jackson had demonstrated. "Pair off and we'll practice some dodging first!"

Harry took one last look at the professor before he paired off with Ron.

The professor was speaking to Draco in a voice too soft to hear over the sound of students yelling spells. He saw Draco crack a small smile at what the professor told him and nodding. As the professor turned away from Draco to inspect the students' progress, Harry can't help but notice the professor's sleeves hitching up his arms from his demonstration earlier.

On professor Jackson's left arm, the tips of a tattoo peaked out from where his sleeve ended.

A mark on the left arm, that's where a Dark Mark would have been. Could Professor Jackson possibly be a _Death Eater_?


	2. Chapter 2

When Harry brought up the matter with Hermione and Ron, Hermione was quick to shoot down the idea.

"Don't be silly," Hermione chided, looking annoyed. "You didn't see the mark Harry, it could have just been any other tattoo." Harry was about to come up with a counter-argument before Hermione interrupted. "And besides, even if it really was the mark, all those who were still loyal to Voldemort had been arrested. Professor Jackson hasn't been arrested so he is a good guy."

There was reason in Hermione's words, of course there was, but Harry knew something was off about the professor. Ron seemed to share his sentiments, as he looked torn between Harry and Hermione. Harry sighed, silently promising himself to observe professor Jackson for any suspicious activity.

* * *

><p>The next time Harry saw the professor was during Divination.<p>

It was certainly not how he thought he would see the professor. In his mind it was more along the lines of holding the professor at wand point rather than seeing him wander, lost, into the lair of professor Trelawney.

It was just like Divination as Harry had remembered it. Professor Trelawney had not changed at all and he quickly found himself falling asleep as he stared at his own reflection in the crystal ball. He was beginning to question his own decision to retake this class. Why did he allow himself to take it up again? Oh yeah, easy scores.

Harry nearly knocked his head on the table when the door to the classroom suddenly flew open. The previously sleeping students were all suddenly alert as they turned their attention to the welcomed interruption.

Professor Jackson backed into the room, pushing the door open with his back, his attention solely on the piece of parchment he held in his left, with his right, he twirled a muggle contraption, a ballpoint pen, Harry recognized. Professor Jackson turned around as he walked into the room, bringing the door close with his leg absentmindedly. He took a step and stopped short, finally taking in his surroundings with surprised eyes.

"The moving staircase got me didn't they." Professor Jackson chuckled nervously as he met the various stares of the students. He gave Trelawney a hurried two-finger salute in apology and swiftly turned around to get out the door.

"_Perseus_," professor Trelawney called before professor Jackson could escape. Harry glanced between Trelawney and Jackson in confusion and curiosity. What was that? Perseus? Who was Perseus? Professor Jackson seems to freeze in mid-action of opening the door.

"Sorry?" professor Jackson managed forcefully as he turned around to face professor Trelawney. Professor Jackson's jaw was tight, dark brows furrowing, expression so guarded it was a striking contrast to the easy-going demeanor Harry had came to associate with the professor. He turned to his friends who were seated with him at the table. Hermione had this look of concentration on her face, as if trying to remember the answer to a test question she knew but just can't seem to remember, as she stared at the professor.

What he didn't understand however was the faint blush she was sporting. Ron had noticed Hermione's expression as well and was now glaring at the professor with all his Weasley fury.

"That's your name isn't it, professor?" professor Trelawney stalked towards professor Jackson in that hunched stagger of hers. Professor Jackson swallowed uncomfortably and Harry noticed he was no longer twirling the pen and was now gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Um, yeah but..." professor Jackson's eyes darted around the room as if looking for something. His thumb slowly inched up the length of his pen, as if ready to slide off the cap of the pen. Harry noted the odd behavior and was a little amused that professor Jackson looked so tense as Trelawney moved closer to him, scrutinizing him with her buggy eyes.

"I see death, lots of pain," Trelawney interrupted whatever professor Jackson's protest was. At that, professor Jackson fixed his stormy green eyes on Trelawney, searching her face with such intensity it sent a chill down Harry's spine even when he was not on the receiving end of it.

Harry didn't expect Trelawney to pull one of her infamous death fortunes on a professor, but he hoped for professor Trelawney's sake that the reaction she got from it was worth being on the receiving end of that terrifying scrutiny professor Jackson was pinning her with.

"I see that you will drown, painfully." Trelawney breathed dramatically, her voice filled with pity. Professor Jackson blinked, confusion and shock instantly replacing his animosity. Then he laughed, the sound ringing in the silent classroom.

Everyone in the room gaped. That was not how you should react when someone predicts your death. Cowering in a corner, fainting, wailing and yelling, falling over things, now those are accepted behaviors. Definitely not laughing.

The tension drained away from professor Jackson's frame, the cheerful glint returning to his swirling green eyes. The humor didn't leave his grin as he clapped Trelawney in the back, shocking the woman at the sudden familiarity he was showing.

"Ok, I get it, I won't interrupt your classes again by mistake," professor Jackson shook his head as he made to move out the door. "No need for death threats Sybill, I think you scared the kids. I'll see you later at the staff meeting." The professor waved at her and the class good-naturedly before disappearing behind the door. Trelawney looked as confused as the rest of the class when she made the class get back to work.

Hermione stared harder at the crystal ball, murmuring the name 'Perseus' over and over again, her frown getting deeper the more she repeated the name. Ron and Harry shared a look, mentally preparing to spend an afternoon without Hermione as she entered her research mode, as they affectionately named it.

Turns out they didn't have to wait the whole afternoon to see the fruit of Hermione's research.

"I knew I heard that name somewhere!" Hermione came towards Ron and Harry who were stuffing their faces at their table in the Great Hall. She had a thick book open in her hand as she sat beside Ron, not even looking at the wide spread of delicious lunch in front of her. Harry set down his fork, making sure to swallow his mouthful of chicken before he talked.

"What name?" Ron continued to shovel food into his mouth, glancing at Hermione to acknowledge his attention for the conversation.

"Perseus!" Hermione exclaimed, pointedly looking away from Ron as she explained. "He's a Greek hero, in muggle myths, he was the son of Zeus."

"So professor Jackson has a Greek name?" Harry clarified. It's a strange choice, he supposed, but not totally unheard of, he had heard stranger inspirations for a name than a hero. Come on, Draco Malfoy was named after a group of stars. "Percy is short for Perseus?" Hermione nodded.

"And there are also no records of any Death Eaters by that name." Hermione added, picking up a glass of pumpkin juice and sipping it. Now that was a relief Harry guessed.

That night in the common room, Harry learnt a few other rumors about professor Jackson.

One, _he said to one of his classes he was half Greek._

Two, _he was seen riding Threstrals over the Forbidden Forest._

Three, _his newly minted fan club was inter-house and very, very scary. _

* * *

><p>The days soon passed into weeks and professor Jackson began teaching harder physical defense maneuvers. To say that Harry didn't enjoy the lessons would be a big lie. It always left him sore the next day but it was fun to learn the moves, it made Harry feel more powerful and confident.<p>

He did, however, also notice that the professor seems more biased to the Slytherins. And in turn, the snakes seem to be closer with professor Jackson as compared to the other professors.

Perhaps they saw in him the late professor Snape, who had always been the only teacher to look after them. The prejudice against the Slytherins may have lessened after the war but many were still hesitant to approach the house. The attitude was shared among the staff but the students were not daft, they could all sense the distrust however mild and they chose to stick to themselves.

Until professor Jackson came. He held none of that prejudice and seems so determined to integrate them back into the school community. He became the big brother the Slytherins never really knew they needed.

Harry tried his best to keep his prejudice at bay but he couldn't help feel a tiny tinge of betrayal as he watched the admittedly nice professor being so friendly with the house of the cunning.

He paused in his practice with Ron when he saw professor Jackson adjust Draco Malfoy's stance. Draco threw the much larger Blaise Zabini over his shoulder with a grunt and broke into a triumphant smirk at his success. He looked hopefully to professor Jackson for approval, which he found in the form of a grin and a clap on his shoulder.

When professor Jackson moved on to inspect a pair of Gryffindors, Draco caught Harry staring and gave him a ghost of a smug smirk. Although the smirk had lacked the antagonistic edge Harry was used to receiving in all those early Hogwarts years, it still riled up a familiar and childish annoyance in Harry. He realized with a start he actually missed the rivalry between him and the Malfoy.

It was familiar though not pleasant, it was still a reminder of better days and he grasped on to it almost desperately.

He sent Malfoy a glare and stuck out his tongue, to which Malfoy responded by raising his nose up higher and looking back at his practice partner.

Harry got back to practice-throwing with Ron as well, a new determination in his stance as a competitive urge surged through him. He's going to do better than that blond git.

At the end of that class, Harry's competitive urge drove him to stay back and obtain a few pointers from professor Jackson. He wasn't in a rush seeing it was his free period next, might as well spend it doing something relatively useful.

"Harry," professor Jackson smiled, addressing him. Harry briefly noted it was the first time professor Jackson had addressed him by name. "Shouldn't you be off to your next class?"

"I have a free period professor," Harry explained. "I'm having trouble with a few moves…" professor Jackson nodded in understanding, gesturing to one of the practice mats that were lying around the floor.

Harry followed, feeling a sense of excitement at the prospect of practice-sparring with the skilled professor.

The session was very helpful Harry concluded, and very _painful_.

Professor Jackson was very patient in pointing out and demonstrating how shifts of weight and changes in stance can aid a fight and turn the tables easily. The result was usually Harry being flipped multiple times, painfully, into the mat. The strength the professor had was just _abnormal_. Harry did return the favor though, with the guidance of professor Jackson, he dealt several painful blows of his own on the professor in attempts to disarm.

In the last set of throws they practiced, Harry gripped the professor's left arm as he twisted and flipped the much larger professor over his shoulder and into the mat. Pleased that he managed to pull off the feat, Harry grinned triumphantly at the fallen professor who managed to make a wince look proud.

Harry's grin faltered and froze on his face when he realized he had managed to push up the professor's sleeve in the course of the throw. He got a clear look at the black ink on Jackson's left forearm.

It wasn't the Dark Mark, which was a relief, but it didn't look like anything completely friendly either. The tattoo consists of the four letters 'SPQR' with a trident above it and two lines not unlike barcode underneath it. The more he stared at it, the less it looked like a tattoo and more like a branding of some sort. The design was so simple and clean, bold and glaring on the professor's skin. The way it looked almost military was what intimidated Harry the most.

Professor Jackson noticed Harry's frozen expression and glanced at his arm before quickly pulling the sleeve of his blue shirt over it again. He got up from his position on the mat smoothly, not even looking the slightest bit sore from all that throwing. He coughed awkwardly.

"That's it for you, hurry off." Professor Jackson dismissed Harry with a wave of his right hand. His expression was uneasy as he collected his coat and left through the door at the back of the class that likely lead to his office. He didn't look back to check if Harry had heeded his instruction.

* * *

><p>"That doesn't make sense!" Hermione frowned, frustrated. They were in the common room again and Harry had just finished describing the mark he saw on professor Jackson's arm. Ginny was curled up in the couch beside Harry, listening in to their conversation. Ron looked a little uncomfortable at the closeness between Harry and Ginny but he chose not to comment, only pulling Hermione closer to himself.<p>

"SPQR is a famous acronym standing for 'The Senate and People of Rome' in Latin. It doesn't make sense a _Greek_ would have that phrase on him." Hermione grumbled, not liking how she's missing information. "It just doesn't match up!"

"Maybe he just liked how it sounded? Professor Jackson _is_ very fluent in Latin." Ginny chimed in. "What's with the lines then?" If it were possible, Hermione's frown grew deeper. She tugged absentmindedly at a lock of her curly hair.

"The only thing I could think of is the lines some muggle prisons used to brand prisoners with. They usually denote violent crimes committed." All three of them shifted uneasily at Hermione's deduction. An image of professor Jackson laughing maniacally, firing off green spells wildly while drenched in blood flashed across Harry's mind.

"If that were the reasons for the lines then that would mean…professor Jackson is a criminal with two records of violence."

It was really hard to imagine the friendly professor as anything evil, the others shot down the theory quickly after deciding the professor was not the criminal type. Looking away from his friends, Harry couldn't help but remember that moment in Divination when the professor's glare alone was enough to make him feel threatened.

Back in the present, however, Harry felt threatened in another way by the professor as he heard a dreamy sigh from Ginny. He cast a betrayed look at his girlfriend as she smiled dreamily. Harry dragged his palm over his face in annoyance, mentally committing brutal murder.

"Hot _and_ a nice bad boy, could professor _Jackson_ be any more _perfect_."


	3. Chapter 3

Out of curiosity, Harry had taken to consulting the Marauders' Map that late one night.

He didn't expect to find anything of course; he wasn't sure what compelled him to pull out the Map to spy on the professor but he did. Harry unrolled the map with practice, murmuring the prompt as he did so. His eyes followed the inky black lines as they spread across the aged parchment in the dim light. Soon the map of Hogwarts appeared before him along with the names of all those who reside within.

Harry combed the map, looking for the name of one mysterious professor.

Harry had expected to find the professor in his office but the little box was empty. Harry's eyes widened as he frantically looked through the rest of the map, panicking slightly when the dot was nowhere to be found. Eventually though, he spotted him.

The banner reading "Perseus Jackson" floated beneath the dot indicating the professor to be standing at the edge of the Lake. A peculiar choice for a late night stroll. Harry quietly got off his bed, gathering his wand and Invisibility cloak as he did so. The familiar rush of adrenaline accompanied his increased heart rate, the thrill of doing something he was clearly not supposed to tingled in his fingertips.

Harry slipped out of the common room, throwing the cloak around his body. He quickly made his way down to the Lake, occasionally glancing down at the map to check that the professor was still there. He soon reached the Lake and professor Jackson was indeed standing at the edge. Harry slowed down his footsteps, careful to not make a sound on the crunchy grass.

Professor Jackson was in his usual getup, navy blue button-up and black pants, his coat in his arms. Come to think of it, he had never seen professor Jackson in the coat at all despite the chilly weather; it was as if it were only there for show.

Professor Jackson was grinning at the lake, as if listening to an invisible speaker. Harry watched as professor Jackson's lips moved, speaking in a voice too soft for him to hear from his distance. Harry edged closer in an attempt to make out the words. In his carelessness, he tripped a little over a wayward pebble and stumbled slightly, catching himself before he could fall.

Professor Jackson's head snapped up, eyes immediately landing on Harry's with deadly accuracy. Harry's heart lurched and the hairs on the back of his neck stood. Like a deer caught in the gaze of a lion, he couldn't seem to look away from those fierce swirling green eyes. He was deeply reminded of that time he took a dive in the Lake during his fourth year, the unforgiving depths suddenly fresh in his mind. He couldn't breathe, the Gillyweed wasn't working, he was cold, he was going to die...

Harry had to force himself back to the present and remind himself he was invisible. The professor couldn't possibly see him.

"Nothing," professor Jackson's smooth voice broke the tension Harry didn't know was in the air. His breath caught in his throat, was professor Jackson talking to him?

"I thought I heard something, a rat maybe." Professor Jackson broke into an easy smile as he turned away from Harry and back to the Lake. Harry let out a breath of relief. If not him, then who was professor Jackson talking to? Harry strained his eyes to look around, trying to spot anything else in the dark that was the other half of the conversation. He didn't want to believe the professor was hallucinating.

Professor Jackson placed his coat on the ground and began to unbutton his shirt. Harry's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open at the professor removing his shirt—to reveal a _very_ well toned body, matching his good looks—and diving into the Lake without even a moment's hesitation. Did the professor have a wish to freeze to death?!

"Professor Jackson!" Harry exclaimed—forgetting for a moment he was supposed to be invisible—hurrying to the edge of the Lake. He peered into the inky depths trying to locate the suicidal professor.

Harry let out a soft yelp when the water surface suddenly erupted and professor Jackson leapt out of the jet of water like a freaking dolphin, laughing exhilaratingly. He couldn't help but watch in amazement as the professor flipped and dive-bombed into the lake, creating such a big splash that shouldn't have been possible, drenching Harry rather thoroughly, seeing the cloak was not waterproof.

Harry could have blamed it on the lack of proper lighting, but he swore professor Jackson looked completely dry.

The next morning, Harry woke up to the sound of two loud thuds and colorful cursing.

"Why the _bloody hell_ is there so much water!?" Dean Thomas cursed loudly from his position under Seamus Finnigan where they both slipped on the mysterious puddles of water in the common room and fell in a tangled heap. Harry awkwardly stepped around the fallen boys, pretending he saw nothing. Oops.

* * *

><p>Harry watched the professor much more closely after last night when he witnessed the professor's midnight swim. The professor was like another person now, calm and collected, walking down the Hufflepuff table, giving a few third years' assignments back.<p>

He didn't exude that wild, carefree energy Harry had witnessed; in fact that energy seemed muted. Little twitches in the professor's fingers that Harry never picked up on before registered this time, giving away the suffocated energy the professor was really good at masking.

The professor was now closer to where Harry was sitting, he caught Harry's eye and he grinned, a playful glint in his clear green eyes.

"Good morning Harry," professor Jackson greeted, the grin still on his face. He swept past Harry, his coat in his arms again, and headed to the staff table. Harry caught the faint salty scent of the sea as professor Jackson passed. The professor cheerfully greeted a few other students on his way, one of which was a Slytherin girl who swooned, before finally settling into his seat. Professor McGonagall cast the younger professor a curious look as he sat, questions about his chirpy mood evident on her face, but she chose not to comment.

Harry watched in confusion when professor Jackson lit a muggle match, humming a soft tune, and threw it into his goblet. The goblet burst into flames, not unlike a miniature reminder of the Goblet of Fire.

"What is he _doing_?" Harry spared a glance at Hermione who voiced the question on the minds of all the students who watched. Professor Jackson proceeded to scrape half of his scrambled eggs and sausages into the flaming goblet, mumbling something under his breath. He swirled the goblet, having resumed his humming, until the flames died out, then ate his breakfast as if he didn't just dump half of it, which are now probably all burnt and soggy, into his goblet which he lit on fire. On a whim, while humming a song, might Harry add.

Professor Percy Jackson, Harry decided, was insane.

* * *

><p>Yet another rumor began to spread across the student body about professor Jackson a few months into the school year.<p>

_Professor Jackson kept an extensive secret armory. Some students claimed to have seen it, describing it as a huge chamber filled with armors and swords of all kinds. The rumor was that he would turn into a secret hero by night and slay monsters in the Forbidden Forest._

Which was actually ridiculous in Harry's opinion. He knew exactly what the professor does at night.

Harry couldn't help it. He hasn't told anyone of that night he saw professor Jackson taking a swim in the Lake. He didn't know what compelled him to keep the secret for the professor but Harry just couldn't get the image of the professor letting go so freely out of his mind.

Harry felt like a creepy stalker the next night he went to bed. He drew the heavy curtains around his bed and opened the Map with excitement and anticipation he shouldn't feel. The disappointment he felt when he spotted professor Jackson's dot in his office, unmoving, shocked even himself. Honestly, he couldn't understand that irrational rejection he felt when he dejectedly kept the Map.

Harry repeated the action the following nights, as if it were a ritual. Each time he would be met with disappointment when the Lake was empty of any banner holding the name "Perseus Jackson".

After the fifth futile night in a row, Harry was starting to think he imagined that scene at the lake. He didn't hope now, as he opened the Map again.

His heart skipped a beat, now that wasn't healthy he was sure. A single dot stood at the edge of the lake again, the banner under it read "Perseus Jackson".

Harry got out of bed so fast he nearly tripped on his cloak.

When Harry got to the lake, gripping the cloak tight around him, he saw professor Jackson grinning at the lake again. Harry carefully inched closer, making sure he doesn't trip this time.

"I'm back," he heard professor Jackson happily announce to the Lake. He didn't have his coat this time and he was in an orange t-shirt Harry never seen him in before. The short sleeves exposed the brand on his arm, and Harry could see it clearly even in the limited lighting. It was just like he remembered, simple and bold.

Professor Jackson chuckled at whatever response he got out of whatever he was talking to, "Yeah I know, they are fixing everything that got damaged in the war." Professor Jackson's voice was tender as he quietly conversed. His gaze was gentle as he stared into the Lake.

_This is wrong,_ Harry's guilt thickened. _I shouldn't be here._ The moment felt intimate, and Harry knew he was intruding. Of course, after all those years, it wasn't like a little guilt was going to stop him from being curious and eavesdropping on private conversations. Hey, such shamelessness helped saved lives, Harry justified for himself in his inner debate.

Professor Jackson talked more with the invisible person, several times mentioning a 'camp', and like the first night, he plunged into the ice cold water.

Harry stood and he watched. Professor Jackson completely let himself go, laughter of pure joy burst forth his throat every time he leapt into the air, the sound echoing in the silent grounds. His joy, his exhilaration of being free was so contagious, Harry felt his face stretching into a smile as he watched the professor behaving like a human dolphin.

Yes, his guilt was worth seeing this mesmerising display.

And so began Harry's routine, check the Map for anyone by the Lake before he sleeps, run like the wind to the Lake if the professor was there, then spy like a creep when professor Jackson swims. He never told Ron or Hermione about the late night trips, perhaps because he was embarressed of their creepy nature, he didn't feel like sharing.

Harry never thought about a time where he would be caught, there wasn't a reason he would ever be. He was invisible, no one would notice. To say Harry was shocked when he was roughly pushed into the cold water, was a huge understatement.

The fourth time he crept up on professor Jackson at the Lake, he dared to inch closer to the edge of the Lake, to just see who or what exactly professor Jackson had been conversing with.

It happened so fast; Harry didn't even have time to react.

Professor Jackson's sharp eyes zeroed in directly at Harry's underneath the cloak, and with one swift hard kick, Harry was sent flying into the lake. He crashed into the lake with a huge splash, the shock of cold water and the aching pain from professor Jackson's blow stunned him momentarily, he didn't even register he was suffocating. His cloak floated away from him, rendering him visible.

His glasses were gone, but through his blurry vision, he could roughly make out professor Jackson's face, his expression fierce and terrifying. There was an arm under his chin, keeping him in the water and there was something long, shiny and pointy pointed at his face. A wand? A…sword?

If Harry weren't so busy struggling to swim to the surface to breathe, he would have noticed that professor Jackson was completely dry, like there was a thin layer of air that prevented him from coming into contact with water.

He felt the water churn and rush around him, suddenly, Harry's head burst through the surface. He gasped loudly, greedily filling his lungs with sweet oxygen. He struggled to make sense of his blurry surroundings, barely registering the strong arms pushing him ashore. He clambered up to lie on the grass, still gasping, cold and wet.

"-arry," professor Jackson was calling his name, looking very concerned. Why wasn't _he_ wet? "Can you hear me, Harry?" Harry nodded shakily at the blurry form of professor Jackson, hands fumbling around beside him trying to feel if his glasses were there.

Sensing what he wanted, professor Jackson placed Harry's glasses in his hands. Harry accepted them gratefully and returned to the world of clarity. He shivered in the chilly breeze, wrapping his wet robes around himself. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and suddenly, he was dry.

He looked down in confusion; there was no evidence of his unplanned dive at all. He looked up in alarm at the disapproving face of professor Jackson, he didn't hear a spell being cast. _How..?_

Finally registering the glare professor Jackson was pinning him with, Harry's thoughts backtracked and he managed to look sheepish under the glare.

"What are you doing out of bed this late, Mr. Harry Potter." Harry's thought process staggered to a stop, the matter briefly forgotten, the question brought forth to his mind other…_concerns_. He couldn't answer, what can he say? _I was spying on you like a creep._

"I'm guessing all those nights I felt someone watching, it was you?" professor Jackson sighed and dragged a hand down his face in exasperation. Harry's face flushed in embarrassment and looked down in shame, the professor knew? Professor Jackson took his silence as a yes and sighed again.

"Please don't pull stunts like that again," professor Jackson grumbled tiredly. "I almost drowned you. I'll take twenty points from Gryffindor for you being out of bed beyond curfew. Lets get you back to the common room." Harry could only nod, shame lacing his features. He was finally found out. Then a thought occurred to him, if he were found out what's the point in hiding?

"Professor…" Harry began, professor Jackson had retrieved Harry's cloak from the edge of the lake and handed it back to Harry, giving it a curious once over. "Who were you talking to?" Professor Jackson glanced back at the lake then back to Harry, he raised one amused eyebrow. Then he laughed, softly, shaking his head.

"The giant squid," he smiled. "I was talking to the squid."

Harry blinked. And continued trying to wrap his head around the fact that professor Jackson was talking to the _squid_ the whole trip back into the Gryffindor common room. As he lay in bed, a million questions swam in his head, _like multiple professor Jacksons swimming,_ his brain supplied an unhelpful analogy.

_How did professor Jackson know he was there? How did he dry him without the use of a spell? Or did he use one but Harry didn't notice it being cast in his near-drowning-experience induced haze? _

Professor Jackson never appeared at the lake again.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry stayed back in class again. This time, for a different purpose. He had gathered the courage to apologize to professor Jackson.

Once the last of the students had left—Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes suspiciously—Harry walked up to the professor who has heaving the practice mats over his shoulder and standing them along the walls.

"Professor," Harry stuffed his hands into his robe pockets. "I want to apologize for that time, I didn't mean to… intrude." Professor Jackson turned back to Harry after making sure the mat wasn't going to topple over any second, his expression held no hostility, just good natured humor, as if he knew a joke Harry didn't.

"And you are forgiven," professor Jackson's tone was lighthearted, Harry's shoulders relaxed. He hadn't expected to be forgiven easily, but he isn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "I must say though, that cloak of yours is very handy. I know of someone else who owns something like that."

"An invisibility cloak?" Harry asked, surprised. He knew the cloaks weren't rare or anything, but most wizards he knew prefer to use the Disillusion Charm over a magical item.

"An invisibility _hat_," professor Jackson corrected chuckling, his eyes fondly glazing over at a memory. "Gave me heart attacks on a daily basis." Professor Jackson's eyes twinkled like water under light. His eyes searched Harry's face for a moment, Harry could almost hear the raging inner debate the professor seems to be having in his head. Professor Jackson came to a conclusion quickly before stalking over to where he had left his coat. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something gold.

Harry thought it was a galleon, but soon realized it was too large and the surface too uneven to be one.

"Here, this is a token of my forgiveness," professor Jackson dropped the coin into Harry's hesitantly outstretched hand. "It's the currency of where I come from."

Harry turned the large, heavy cookie-sized gold coin in his hand. There was the image of a bearded man stamped on one side and a tall modern skyscraper on the other. There was some inscription, rather crudely carved, in a language he didn't recognize around the edge of the coin, assuming the rumours were true, and professor Jackson was from Greece, he guessed the language was Greek.

"Thank you," Harry breathed. It was an expensive token, that much he knew. He looked up at the professor with wide eyes, was forgiveness really worth this much? Professor Jackson only laughed, his twinkling eyes suddenly reminded Harry of Dumbledore, and both of them had eyes twinkling with secrets.

"Run along now and don't lose my gift!" professor Jackson shooed him out of the room and shut the door behind him.

* * *

><p>"It's a drachma," Hermione's eyes were filled with such amazement. She cradled the piece of gold in her hand so carefully, she looked like she was just one step short of building an altar and worshipping it.<p>

"A drachma?" Harry rolled the foreign word on his tongue; it came out sounding very strange. Ron craned his neck to take a closer look at the coin in Hermione's hands since she refused to let him hold it.

"Blimey, looks old," Ron commented.

"It's pure gold by the looks of it, how did professor Jackson even get his hands on this!" Hermione turned the coin this way and that, so lost in her own thoughts she probably didn't hear either of them. Either way, she thought of explaining without further prompting. "That's the face of Poseidon, Greek God of the Sea. There's no doubt, this is a drachma, the currency of the Ancient Greeks! This, this is a monumental archeological find! It belongs in a museum! But the inscription… It looks like Greek, it should be Greek, but I don't recognize the word."

Hermione stopped her reverence of the coin and pinned Harry with a suspicious look.

"Why did professor Jackson give you this coin?" Harry gulped, his eyes shifted between the two pairs of accusing eyes on him.

"I, uh, looked for him after class and he rewarded me for my enthusiasm." Harry coughed out, fighting back the blush of embarrassment at his outright lie. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, not believing him one bit, but Ron seems to buy it.

"Merlin's pants... I should be more enthusiastic about his class, if only you told me earlier it would earn me a gold medallion..." Ron eyed the large coin with envy. Hermione had returned to studying the coin.

"But I don't understand," Hermione stared at the side stamped with the skyscraper, mumbling to herself now. "This is the Empire State Building in New York. Why would it be on such an ancient coin? The marks on the coin definitely suggests age dating back to the Ancient times…"

Hermione's research in the next weeks turned up no results except to confirm the age of the coin to be from roughly 370B.C. The inscriptions however, were made very recently, according to her. This puzzled the witch even more and Ron was seeking refuge in Harry's company more and more lately to escape her horrible mood. Harry could only laugh at his friends. It was a strange sensation—sort of like a muddled state of complacency—he vaguely wondered why he wasn't feeling the clawing anxiety in unravelling the enigma that was professor Percy Jackson.

Surely whatever secrets this pleasant man hid wouldn't be too terrible.

* * *

><p>Another few uneventful months passed before professor Jackson was at the forefront of rumors again.<p>

_Professor Jackson was a dainty female virgin loved by unicorns. _

When Harry first heard the rumor he had to ask the person, Seamus, to repeat himself.

_Professor Jackson? A dainty _female virgin_? Sorry, excuse my hearing. _

Harry was doubtful about the virgin part of the description, surely a man with his looks… Harry stopped himself from thinking too far. Harry however was hundred percent positive of the professor's gender, and he most certainly was not _dainty._ A shirtless image of said professor leaping from the water flashed into Harry's mind.

_Goddammit_.

It wasn't long before Harry witnessed the source of the rumors for himself.

They were in Hagrid's class, once again dealing with Hippogriffs. Hagrid managed to get his hands on two other of those magnificent creatures and the class was taking turns feeding and patting the three beasts.

Harry and Draco managed to land the same turn at the Hippogriffs. Draco was very hesitant in approaching Buckbeak, his face betraying his terror. It was understandable seeing how he was 'attacked' by the very same beast all those years ago. Draco seems to be having more luck this time as the Hippogriff lowered its front half in a bow, acknowledging and approving of Draco to pat it.

A hesitant smile found its way onto Draco's face as he stroked the soft feathers with a shaking hand. Harry smirked as he stroked his own Hippogriff; he's still faster at earning the animal's trust. Take that, you git. He recalled the time he flew on Buckbeak and sighed in content at the exhilaration in his memory.

"WOOOOOOO!" a high-pitched yell of joy interrupted Harry's blissful thoughts and shocked everyone as they looked around frantically for the source. The Hippogriffs grunted and flapped their wings in alarm. Draco scrambled back away from the creatures in fear. Harry backed away slower, hoping not to agitate the creatures further with sudden movements.

"HOLY HADES MOVE SHIT AH!" The same voice yelled, Harry thought the voice sounded very familiar, flashes of a half naked professor reappeared in Harry's mind and he quickly shook his head.

Not a second later, they heard the unmistakable pounding of hooves and a pure white unicorn burst through the first line of trees at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Students screamed and it was a mad scramble to get out of the way of the legendary beast.

Riding on the back of the unicorn was professor Jackson, grin impossibly wide, leaves and twigs in his messy black hair, looking not even the tiniest bit remorseful he just crashed into a class.

"Hey Hagrid!" He yelled, laughing. Hagrid looked like an astonished fish, closing and opening his mouth as he stared at the unicorn. Those creatures won't even let men _close_ and yet professor Jackson was _riding_ it. "Hey Harry! Hey Draco! Hey HermioneEEEEE!" professor Jackson sounded like he was going to greet everyone in the class but the unicorn won't have any of it.

His last phrase ended in a shriek as the unicorn reared up and galloped back into the trees bringing the madly cackling professor along with it.

Hagrid seems incapable of speech as he silently dismissed the class early with a weak wave of his hand.

* * *

><p>Professor Jackson never cast a spell.<p>

Sure professor Jackson had a wand, but it was common knowledge he weld it like a dagger. Rumour was he once stabbed it into the wall beside a fifth-year's ear when the boy wasn't paying attention.

Harry had never seen professor Jackson cast a spell. In fact professor Jackson preferred to do everything manually. Whenever he had to teach a spell, he would always get a student who knew it, usually Hermione, to demonstrate.

Yet professor Jackson's lack of wand-waving never hindered his lessons in any way.

* * *

><p>Harry soon came to see what was so special about the pen that was always with professor Jackson.<p>

Harry remembered the Room of Requirement that was burned down by the Fiendfyre during the Battle. He was curious if it had survived the fire and that led to him pacing in front of a wall on the seventh floor. To his surprise, the door slowly appeared before him.

Harry pushed open the door in a daze, the Room made it. He entered the familiar room, the same one Dumbledore's Army had used as a secret training base in his fifth year. He gazed around at the room, memories resurfacing. Then he heard panting. Someone else was in here before him.

He turned the corner and saw the back of a person standing in the middle of what looked like a sandbag massacre. He hurriedly backed around the corner hoping he was not seen. Harry tentatively peeked around the wall at the panting figure.

The floor was littered with mutilated dummies. Long slashes littered their bodies, their stuffings flowed from them like open wounds, some look drenched in water. A few dummies even had their heads decapitated. Harry concluded with a gulp this was the work of the man in front of them, hunched over and panting hard.

The man wore a very familiar sweat-soaked orange t-shirt and ripped blue jeans with sneakers. He was leaning on a long, pointy and shiny object. A sword. The man slowly stood up and turned to the side to face the last intact dummy. Harry inhaled sharply as the man revealed himself to be professor Jackson.

Professor Jackson's wild hair stuck to his sweaty face, his green eyes once again stormy and filled with concentration. He raised the long, wicked-looking sword in front of him. The expression professor Jackson had on his face was cold and fierce, once again, Harry found himself wondering how such a terrifying expression could be on the face of such a pleasant man.

The dummy was enchanted to move, a sword of it's own materialising in its stuffed hand. It launched at the professor, sword raised high above its head. The professor parried the strike, holding up his own sword. His teeth clenched and he growled—a feral sound that chilled Harry to the bone—pushing the dummy away from him forcefully. The dummy stumbled backwards but recovered quickly, its sword swinging a deadly arc at the professor's head. Jackson ducked expertly under the swing and made to stab the dummy under its outstretched arm. It jerked to the right, steering clear of the jab. It grabbed the professor's sword arm before he could retract it and twisted, making the man grunt, twisting his body with his arm to stop it from breaking. He ripped his arm away from the dummy, but not before the dummy landed a swing at his unprotected back.

Professor Jackson hollered in pain as his shirt was ripped open and a nasty long gash appeared on his back. He stumbled away from the dummy, panting and glaring hard at the enchanted sandbag. Harry watched transfixed at the death match before him, if he tried hard enough he could almost imagine the dummy as a real human. A real human with the cold hard goal of killing its opponent. Harry felt a faint sense of terror when he saw the same intent in the professor's churning green eyes.

The professor charged again at the dummy, feinting to the left before he ducked to the right, swinging his sword upwards, taking off the dummy's sword arm with the swing. Harry drew a sharp intake of breath as the dummy fell to its knees, its other arm clutching the stub as if it were in pain. It didn't have a face nor does it have vocal chords but Harry could almost picture its expression of horror, could almost hear its pained howl.

With another swing, the professor easily looped off it's head. The dummy fell to the ground with a thud, joining its fallen inanimate brethren.

Harry tried to calm his rapid breathing, _it's just a practice training, the dummies were just animated objects_. Why did it feel so _real_?

Professor Jackson let his sword arm fall tiredly to his side, absentmindedly lifting his right arm to point at a nearby basin, a new addition to the room Harry dully noted. Harry watched in shock as a blob of water the size of a football floated into the air. Professor Jackson's hand followed the ball of water—or rather the ball of water followed his hand—to directly above the professor's head.

Professor Jackson's arm swung limp and he let the water drench him as it fell. Harry watched in amazed horror as the water ran over the large gash on the professor's back, knitting the wound back together right before his eyes.

Instantly, the professor became dry again. Harry kept watching, frozen, as professor Jackson pulled a pen cap out of his pocket and tapped it to the tip of his sword.

The sword immediately shrunk and he was holding his signature capped ballpoint pen.

Harry couldn't have run out of the Room any quicker.

Harry dashed through the halls, not stopping until he found his friends, face paler than the ghosts. He told them. He told them everything.

* * *

><p>After that incident in the Room, Hermione got into a frenzy trying to dig up just what professor Jackson's story was. It didn't matter how many books she gone through, she would always end up back on square one. She knew she was just this close to the answer but every time she thought she got it, her mind became so clouded with doubt she quickly dismissed her theories.<p>

Harry wanted to confront the professor. He didn't have a good reason to other than his overwhelming curiosity but he didn't care. He just wanted answers, anything at all, as long as he could shake this uneasy feeling the professor gave him. He should have known better; things were never easy for Harry Potter.

It didn't help that the man suddenly made himself so scarce he was almost only seen during lesson.

Harry tried to call out to the professor in the hallways, but just like a painful rerun of his fifth year with Dumbledore, the professor all but ignored his calls, always quickly vanishing among the sea of students.

Harry didn't give up.

Determination burned in Harry's chest as he dashed after the professor after one of his classes, yelling out for him, not caring about the weird looks he was receiving. Ron and Hermione followed faithfully behind him. The professor didn't even look back, swiftly entering his office. Harry caught the door before it could shut fully, preparing to confront the professor. They were only met with a glaringly empty room, professor Jackson nowhere to be seen. He cursed as he scanned the desolate office hatefully, noting angrily the lack of personal belongings. A steaming stone fountain in the corner trickled mockingly at him.

"How..." Hermione's disbelieving whisper pulled them out of their stunned silence.

Harry growled low in his throat, slamming the door behind him in frustration.

The wild goose chased ended abruptly after two weeks, for all their frustrations' worth. The day immediately after the second week, they couldn't remember for the love of everything just why it was so important to confront their professor. Suspicions all but vanished. A nagging sensation at the back of Harry's mind pricked at him, like he had forgotten something important.

Harry concentrated and focused on all his memories of the professor, trying to grip onto his suspicions. It was like trying to grab a stream of water with his fingers. It almost caused him physical pain to push away the doubt stubbornly clouding his thoughts. He forced himself to chase after the professor immediately after the class was dismissed. He grabbed the professor's arm before he could evade him again. The physical contact only seem to increase his doubt ten fold, his thoughts so incoherent he couldn't make head or tails of his own mind.

"Professor," Harry ground out, his face scrunched up in concentration. What was it that he was going to ask? He gripped the professor's arm tighter, trying to root himself to his cause. "I need to know..."

Professor Jackson interrupted him with a snap of his fingers.

Harry blinked.

"Yes?" Professor Jackson asked patiently, a dark brow raised in question. Harry's features relaxed, his thoughts clear again. He flushed in embarrassment, he was making a fool of himself. He released his hold on the professor's arm, quickly stepping back.

"Nothing," Harry replied. Nothing was wrong. Professor Jackson was perfectly normal. Nothing was out of place.

* * *

><p>It was the end of the year, all of them somehow managed to pass their NEWTS and Harry, Ron and Seamus were offered Auror Internships. Harry was a little sad as they left the gates of Hogwarts for the final time. He looked back at the huge castle he had come to call home; emotions whirled in him as he stepped to the edge of the castle moats.<p>

Along with the rest of the seventh years, Harry looked at the little boats he had taken to reach the school all those years ago. His heart ached and a smile crept up his face. Sniffles were heard among them as they stepped into the boats. They were going to leave the castle the same way they first came; it had a nice poetic ring to it.

Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the last boat. The small boat rocked as the last passenger boarded.

Professor Jackson climbed into the narrow boat, settling behind Harry.

The three of them awkwardly greeted him. If professor Jackson noticed their guarded behaviour, he didn't comment on it.

The announcement had came suddenly. Professor Jackson was leaving at the end of the year. Perhaps the position really was jinxed.

Students had protested his leave; some younger ones even resorted to pulling his coat ends, physically preventing him from leaving. He _was_ a great teacher. All professor Jackson gave to them in return was a chuckle, _I would love to stay longer but it's time I got home._

The ride was silent, all of them lost in their own thoughts. Trapped in their own musings, they fail to notice the boat ride was much smoother than it should have been.

As their boats bumped against the shore, they stepped out of the boats one by one, each step bringing them further away from their childhood. Harry followed Ron and Hermione's lead, stepping onto dry land. The moment his foot touched the ground, his mind was suddenly overwhelmed by an onslaught of emotion.

Curiosity, anxiety, confusion, suspicion, all of it crashed into him like a tsunami. He didn't know why he didn't feel it before while he had the professor trapped in the small boat capacity with him but that didn't matter. He was going to get his answers now. All of those unanswered questions bubbled in his chest. Harry spun around so fast he had whiplash, the words forming at the tip of his tongue.

The boat was empty, a faint salty scent of the sea lingered in the air.

Professor Jackson was gone.

* * *

><p>The Hogwarts Express rumbled through the Scottish landscape, hills blurred past their window, but no one was paying attention to it.<p>

"Harry, stop." Ron rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I don't know what your deal is but there is no '_professor Jackson'._"

Harry threw his arms up in frustration. Why won't they believe him? They were all the same, nobody remembered the DADA professor who taught them for a whole year. No matter who he asked, and he had asked _everybody_, they would always look at him like he was off his rocker.

"Harry, our DADA professor was professor Kerr." Hermione told him slowly, as if he were a small child. Ah, _professor Kerr._ Everyone claimed _she_ was the one who taught them, for all they care, professor Jackson didn't exist.

He glowered in betrayal at his friends. He got up from his seat and slammed open the door to their compartment. He ignored Hermione's indignant calls as he stormed angrily down the aisle. He came to a stop in front of the restroom door, flinging open the flimsy piece of wood with much more force than necessary.

He hadn't expected the small restroom to be occupied.

Draco Malfoy stood at the sink, the front of his fringe still dripping wet from washing his face. His shocked grey eyes met Harry's in the mirror.

Harry wasn't so much surprised at the presence of the other male as he was at the object in his hands. In Draco's pale hands, was a familiar large gold medallion.

A drachma.

Harry's heart pounded loudly in his chest, there was a weight in his robe pocket he was suddenly very much aware of. He slowly raised a shaking hand, slipping it ever so slowly into his pocket. The Slytherin's eyes followed his movement in the mirror, his lips pressed in a tight line. Numb fingertips brushed against cold metal. Harry gingerly pulled out the coin, its gold color glinting brilliantly even in the weak lighting of the restroom. Malfoy whipped his head around, grey eyes disbelieving as he took in the drachma. If Harry had looked up, he would have seen the relief in those grey eyes.

But Harry was too busy staring at the weathered face of Poseidon on the side of the coin. His eyes landed on the crude inscription. The words seem to shift and rearrange themselves before his very eyes.

_Perseus Jackson._

**_~The End~_**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thank you so much to those who reviewedfaved/followed! Your support made me feel all mushy inside =w=~_**

**_Sorry if this chapter was a little lengthy, I didn't really know where to cut it without spoiling the flow!_**

**_This was originally just a one-shot I wrote on impulse, but it got a little long so I separated it into 4 chapters, it means a lot to me when I read your responses after I posted this, really made my day!_**

**_Please tell me what you thought of this story! _**

**_Thank you again for reading!_**


	5. Sequel-ish Short

**A little bit of satisfying my own need to write more, enjoy!**

* * *

><p>Loud hollering filled the air in the dingy pub. Its grimy interior was reflected in its equally grimy patrons. The place reeked of the strong stench of cheap alcohol. Gamblers roared loudly somewhere at the back of the pub, the crowd congratulating the winners and holding back the angry losers. Drunken shouting joined the chaos, yet none of the other patrons paid them more attention than necessary. It was a common occurrence in this crude place.<p>

It was exactly in a place like this where an expensive suit would stick out like a sore thumb.

At the bar sat a young blond man dressed in what appeared to be his finest. His crisp pitch-black suit was perfectly ironed, not a crease out of place. His black dress shoes were shiny and looked like they cost more than the entire pub put together. His platinum blond hair was parted neatly and slicked back. In his pale slender hands, he carried a long cane as black and polished as his suit, its handle was a small knob of silver, intricately branded with a coat of arms no one in the pub could recognise.

The patrons sneered at him from their seats, some snickered with their buddies, a few rowdy ones loudly jeered for "_rich boy to tip-toe back to his bank_". The blond man paid them no mind, slowly nursing his untouched glass of scotch. The bartender snorted at him, contempt clear in his dry smirk.

"Yer gonna sit there all day?" the bartender sneered at the young man, putting down the glass he had been cleaning. The young man hadn't moved since he sat there over half an hour ago and he was taking up space at the bar needlessly. Besides, he wasn't in a mood to deal with spoilt rich brats.

The young man looked up from his scotch, meeting the bartender's eyes steadily with piercing grey ones.

"If I have to." Draco Malfoy supplied the oversized bartender with an equally condescending tone. He tapped his cane with his finger impatiently. Potter's going to pay for this. He growled internally and mentally ripped the smug grin off that smug face of an imaginary Potter.

He didn't understand why Potter would want to have a meeting in this godforsaken place. He understood the need for a secure location given his status as an Unspeakable, but couldn't the Head Auror have picked somewhere more civilized? This pub was filled with literally filthy muggles and the grime of humanity. It just made Draco's skin crawl at the mere thought of being in such a place.

And to make matters even worse, Potter was late. Terribly late.

It didn't matter that Potter technically ranked higher than him, the Boy Who Lived would soon become the Boy Who Died By The Bare Hands Of Draco Malfoy.

Draco was once again lost in his own murderous thoughts as he continued his fruitless wait. The bartender rolled his eyes at him but didn't comment further.

"And you," The bartender turned to the patron beside Draco. "Yer gonna hav'ta pay fer that."

The patron beside Draco was just like the rest, unkempt. His rumpled grey hoodie shielded his identity from Draco, who barely spared him a glance. From the corner of his eye, Draco saw the patron pat down his pockets, obviously coming up empty. A soft noise that sounded like a groan came from beneath the hoodie, Draco rolled his eyes. He really didn't get these people, wasting their already meagre money on a fleeting bliss like alcohol and drugs.

Draco heard the metallic thud of something heavy colliding with the tabletop. The rusted bar stool scraped noisily against the unpolished wooden floor with more force than necessary, its hooded occupant already briskly headed towards the exit.

"What the hell! Yer hav'ta pay in dollars!" The bartender yelled angrily after the man who was already gone. Out of habitual curiosity, Draco's disinterested gaze landed on the source of the bartender's confusion.

The innocent gold coin rested on the tabletop, its polished surface glowing even in the weak lighting of the pub. The noise of the pub faded away, Draco didn't even notice he was running until he was out in the cold streets of London's boroughs.

He would recognize that gold coin anywhere. The coin's image was branded into the back of his eyelids, haunting him every time he closed his eyes. How many years of frustration had he spent glaring at the piece of gold, studying each and every dent on its surface, recalling every piece of rapidly fading memories the coin represented.

To solve the mystery of the coin had been his never-ending obsession. Even the choice of heading the Department of Mysteries was heavily influenced by this obsession.

Draco's wide eyes searched the dark streets with an almost crazed urgency. His breaths came out short and rushed, the weight of years of frustration was tightening around his lungs. He was so close to his answers, he couldn't give up now, no, he would never forgive himself if he were to let this chance of getting answers slip away.

He ground his teeth and cursed himself for not noticing the man earlier; he had sat beside the man all night, goddammit!

Then Draco saw it. That grey hoodie.

The man was almost at the bend. If he turned he would rejoin the crowd, lost in the throngs of people forever. He started running again, his muscles burning from the exertion. The pristine suit was now messy and rumpled but for once in his life Draco couldn't care less about it.

"Hey!" Draco's mouth opened without his permission, his voice surprisingly loud for his shallow breaths. The hooded man didn't stop. Draco ran faster, his frantic heart thundering in his ears. The distance between them shortened.

Hundred feet, fifty, twenty, ten, five…

"HEY!" Draco reached to grab onto the hoodie, the desperation in his voice was clear as day. He couldn't let the man disappear, not again.

Draco didn't manage to reach the hoodie. Before his fingers could come into contact with the faded fabric, his arm was roughly gripped in a familiar tight hold. In an all too familiar motion, Draco found himself thrown over the man's shoulder, landing on the cement pavement painfully with a resounding thud.

Draco didn't stop the pained moan that escaped his lips, his features scrunched together as he rolled over in pain. The throw had brought forth, with breathtaking clarity, faded memories.

_A confident laughter, a mischievous grin, a pair of sea green eyes. _

Draco's eyes shot open and searched with frenzy around him. He could now clearly see the face of the hooded man over him. The exact same pair of sea green eyes from his memories stared wide-eyed right back at him.

Draco's face stretched painfully to accommodate the large smile that he donned. He was not crazy, the source and the answer to all his frustrations was standing right in front of him looking exactly like how he remembered. The rest of the world was lost to Draco when at that moment the only thing that mattered was the existence of the man still standing over him.

Screw Potter. Screw his meeting. Screw that sorry excuse for a pub.

Perhaps if Draco were more rational, he would have questioned the strangeness of the man remaining _exactly the same as he remembered _after all these years. Hadn't he aged at all? Alas, Draco's mind couldn't conjure up any coherent thought other than the reassurance of his own sanity.

"Professor Jackson." Draco breathed, something cold and wet ran down his cheek. He touched his face in confusion, he was crying?

The expression on Jackson's face finally softened. He reached up and pulled back his hood, allowing the dim streetlights to illuminate his angular features. He gripped Draco tightly and helped the boy up to his feet again. In the light, Draco began to notice the little signs of fatigue on the man's face. Dark rings stood out under those stormy eyes and eyebrows drawn together slightly.

"It's Percy now, Draco." Draco's smile grew even wider and almost leaked a new round of tears when the ex-professor's soothing voice reached his ears. Memories of the kind professor flooded his mind; all those times when the professor helped him tide over some of the most vicious accusations from a few of his fellow schoolmates…

Draco pulled Percy into a tight hug, sobbing into the man's shoulder as if he were a teenager once again. Draco couldn't let go, he was afraid that if he even loosened his hold by a tiny amount, the man would fade just like the rest of the memories of him.


End file.
